And then it drives me to do something, like pollen fusing in the air. I can't help but sneeze out. Sometimes sneakily, sometimes flagrantly. I don't even know what it's for. And then it drives me to float, voluntarily yet helplessly, on the boiling bubbling gas mud. And then I bend over again and again. Perhaps John Waters can answer that.
In haze I seek the light but feel blind. At middle of the night I toss out money to shop for the one and then it drives me to cry over the drive. It keeps coming back to haunt me, like pollen fusing in the air. I can’t help.
In the daytime the drive is gray, stoic, and oblivious. And then at night the heaven comes back in the crack.
In haze I seek the light but feel blind. At middle of the night I toss out money to shop for the one and then it drives me to cry over the drive. It keeps coming back to haunt me, like pollen fusing in the air. I can’t help.
In the daytime the drive is gray, stoic, and oblivious. And then at night the heaven comes back in the crack.
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